


Inevitable (Incredible)

by AudreyV



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bisexuality, Dildos, Drunk Sex, Explicit Consent, F/F, Foreplay, Georgiou loves chaos, Light Angst, Longing, Multi, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Past Katrina Cornwell/Philippa Georgiou, Past Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou, Sex Between Friends, Strap-Ons, Teasing, Threesome - F/F/F, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyV/pseuds/AudreyV
Summary: “What now?” Michael asked, and that surprised Katrina. Perhaps not so much the words but the tone— it struck Katrina as being much less hesitant and more hopeful than she would have expected.“Your quarters or mine?” Georgiou asked Katrina.“Mine,” she replied immediately— also less hesitant than she would have expected.
Relationships: Katrina Cornwell/Mirror Philippa Georgiou, Michael Burnham/Katrina Cornwell, Michael Burnham/Katrina Cornwell/Mirror Philippa Georgiou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Inevitable (Incredible)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlassesOfJustice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesOfJustice/gifts).



> I was trying to write another, much more serious fic about trauma and recovery and the sexual ethics (or extreme lack there of) in the mirror universe, but sometimes characters just want to fuck it out so now this fic exists. 
> 
> I live for the complicated relationships characters on this show have with their mirror/prime counterparts and the mirror/prime counterparts of the characters they love. This feeling of, you're her, but you're also very much not her. So that's very much threaded through this fic. There are also lots of mentions/implications of Katrina's relationships with various prime universe characters. 
> 
> Thanks to PieHeda, miri_cleo & GlassesofJustice, all of whom made this fic better with their gentle guidance.

Katrina Cornwell had not been the sort of woman to grope or be groped in a dark corridor in a very long time— and yet, there she was, leaning against the cool grey wall and melting under an onslaught of forceful kisses. (The universe was a strange, frustrating, often confusing place, especially now. She told herself she was entitled to the things that made her feel human.) 

“Philippa, I’ve been— oh!” A voice nearby exclaimed. 

Katrina blinked, eyes tired and bleary with perhaps a bit too much whiskey, at the silhouette of Michael Burnham, frozen at the bend of the corridor, staring at her. No, staring at THEM, at both Katrina and the wiry dark woman in her arms as if Michael had just seen a ghost. (In some sense, she had.)

Before Katrina could mobilize the right reassuring words, her companion had evaporated from her arms like smoke and was striding confidently, sinuously toward Michael. Katrina wasn’t quite sure what was coming until a second before Georgiou’s hands reached for Michael, pulling her in. Michael made a small startled sound before her entire body sagged into Georgiou’s arms, surrendering completely to the kiss. 

Katrina felt like a voyeur but she'd always liked a little discomfort. It was always the truest indication of the limits of her boundaries and her heart. Now even as her brain told her something was very off the rails, her gut was saying something different. 

Or maybe that wasn't her gut. Maybe it was lower. Maybe it was the whiskey. But as she watched Georgiou press Michael against the wall — much like she’d pressed Katrina against the wall just a few moments before, boldly thrusting a toned thigh between Katrina’s legs— Katrina was overwhelmed by _want_. 

When Georgiou stepped back from Michael, both of them were breathing heavily. The moment hung in the air, thick with possibility. 

“What now?” Michael asked, and that surprised Katrina. Perhaps not so much the words but the tone— it struck Katrina as being much less hesitant and more hopeful than she would have expected. 

“Your quarters or mine?” Georgiou asked Katrina. 

“Mine,” she replied immediately— also less hesitant than she would have expected. 

—

When they got to Katrina’s quarters, Georgiou waltzed in like she owned the place. Katrina silently thanked her past self for her habit of tidying up before she leaves. Georgiou stalked to the replicator before whirling back to where her companions both lingered just inside the door. 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Whiskey, on the rocks.” Katrina replied. 

“Pedestrian, but it does the trick,” Georgiou said. “Michael?”

“I trust your judgement.”

“That can’t possibly be true,” Katrina said before she thought better of it, but Michael chuckled and inclined her head. 

“I trust her judgement when it comes to drinks. She’s had a lot more of them than I have.”

“Indeed,” Georgiou said breezily. “Computer, one Terellian whiskey on the rocks, one Samarian sunset, one mai tai and three shots of ahazi.”

“Ahazi. Database entry not found.”

“Does this pathetic universe really not have ahazi?” Georgiou scoffed. “Fine. Three shots of tequila. It must have tequila, right?”

The drinks materialized on a small tray, which Georgiou took over to the couch, placing it on the coffee table. She sat on the couch and extended her arms along the back of it, clearly waiting for the others to join her. 

Katrina wondered if she'd opened a door she'd be better off not walking through, but before she could think of a polite way to redirect things, Michael moved to sit on the couch near Georgiou, so she did the same. 

"To the fact that we're all still alive tonight," Georgiou said in a dry tone. 

Tequila was absolutely not Katrina's favorite, but she could drink it. Better than Michael, who winced as it burned down her throat. Katrina chased the sour taste with a sip of the whiskey, which was better. 

"Is the sunset or the mai tai mine?" Michael asked. 

Georgiou picked up the rounded stemmed glass filled with clear liquid. She handed it to Michael. 

"Wait," Philippa commanded before Michael could bring it to her lips. Georgiou took a spoon from the tray and lightly tapped the rim of the glass. The clear liquid bloomed into a vibrant yellowy-pink glow, like its namesake. 

Katrina liked the delight in Michael's eyes. 

"I've never had one of these," Michael marveled. She sipped the drink, which was fading into an opaque orange. "It's delicious." 

"I like introducing you to new things," Georgiou purred and Katrina felt the energy of the room shift, just like that. 

Right. They were there, they had drinks in their hands, and at some point they'd have to get on with it or not. 

Except right then they were sitting on a couch and Georgiou was sipping a mai tai (could this Philippa somehow know how many times she saw the other one toy with the little paper umbrella just like that?) and the nostalgia was as heavy in Katrina's veins as the whiskey. 

"My favorite part of these sorts of things," Georgiou began, eyes glittering. "Is right now, when we pretend we're not here to have sex." 

Michael choked on her Samarian sunset but recovered quickly. 

"Seems like if that’s your favorite part, we don't actually have to have sex at all," Katrina replied. She felt the smallest shiver go down her spine when Georgiou looked over at her with glittering narrow eyes. 

"That would be awfully selfish of me, to enjoy my favorite part but not let either of you enjoy yours." In one fluid motion, Georgiou handed her drink to Michael and shifted her body to straddle Katrina. "Tell me Admiral. What's your favorite part?"

Georgiou toyed with Katrina's hair as she bent down toward her, bringing their mouths dangerously close together as she waited for her answer. 

"Ask me after," Katrina replied with a grin, drunk enough again that she could blame the whiskey for the recklessness. 

Kissing this Philippa wasn't quite like kissing the other one. Katrina didn't really expect it to be, except somehow part of her did because kissing the wrong Gabriel wasn't enough to make her realize he wasn't the right one. (How could she have known? PTSD was the logical conclusion; an evil mirror universe counterpart was so outlandish as to seem ridiculous. But even as her brain knew she wasn't to blame she wondered if there were more signs she'd missed.) 

This Philippa kissed with intent. Nothing lazy or casual or soft about it, and Katrina let herself be plundered because she needed to feel something. (And truly, she needed to get fucked, to wash the taste of the wrong Gabriel Lorca from her mouth. If fucking the wrong Philippa Georgiou on purpose would do that, Katrina was fine with that price.) 

She felt practiced hands unfastening her uniform, flaying open her jacket and moving to the fasteners of her trousers. When Georgiou shifted to tug them off her hips, Cornwell stopped her. 

"You move fast," she said. 

"Is that a problem?"

"Depends. Do you have another appointment after we leave?" 

"Of course not. I simply haven't embraced this universe's obsession with foreplay."

"Foreplay is essential," Michael piped up from her spot on the couch. "It's actually my favorite part."

Cornwell turned her focus to Michael, who had finished her own drink and was sipping Georgiou's mai tai. 

"What in particular?" Cornwell asked as Georgiou went to the replicator to get them more drinks. 

"The way the tension builds up. I like…” Michael trailed off, searching for words. “Touching and caressing another person until the tension between us is overwhelming and we have to give into it. I like when it feels inevitable. Like what’s between us is too big to resist.”

“Well, when you put it that way it doesn’t sound quite so boring,” Georgiou purred as she returned with a full tray of tiny glasses filled with different colored liquids. Katrina noticed a few pipettes and measuring devices. Georgiou placed the tray on the coffee table and then sat on the floor next to it, busying herself with combining them into three empty shot glasses. 

“Are we drinking or doing a science experiment?” Katrina asked. 

“We’re talking about how much Michael likes it when sex feels inevitable. And I’m making us something special. It enhances pleasure.”

"You have one of the most brilliant minds in the multiverse and you use your talents for DIY aphrodisiacs." Michael shook her head, but her face was full of fondness. 

"I use my talents for your pleasure," Georgiou retorted, dropping a measure of bright pink liquid into the shot glass, causing a small puff of purple fumes. "And you're welcome."

"Is this a terrible idea?" Katrina asked Michael, who shrugged. 

"Maybe. I don't think I care."

"I love terrible ideas," Georgiou interjected.

"We know," Michael said. She turned back to Katrina. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No." Katrina searched her heart and found that to be true. "I think I just wasn't expecting to be sitting here tonight with Ambassador Sarek's daughter, watching the mirror universe version of my dead friend homebrew sex elixirs." 

"That's how you see me?" Michael asked, quirking an eyebrow up. "As my father's daughter?" 

"Are you disappointed?"

Michael considered this.

"No. I am Sarek's daughter, and it's logical that's how you'd see me." She glanced away and Katrina saw what looked like guilt on her face. "I'm glad you don't think of me as a mutineer." 

Katrina noticed Georgiou's worried glance at Michael, but Michael didn't seem to. 

"You're a complicated woman, Michael," Katrina offered. "I could think of you as Sarek's daughter, a mutineer, a brilliant scientist, the woman who both began and ended the Klingon war, Philippa's protégé… and that's all accurate. But you're not just the sum of the things you did and who you were and what happened to you. You're so much more than that."

"You people are far too into talking," Georgiou grumbled. 

"Then mix faster," Katrina said firmly

"I'm working as fast as I can. I don't want to accidentally blow us up."

Michael and Katrina looked at each other, then at Georgiou, whose placid expression didn't give a hint as to whether or not she was serious. 

"I'm pretty sure she's joking," Michael said finally. "Go back to saying nice things to me." 

"You surprise me," Katrina said. "You're here and you don't seem nervous or awkward, even though Philippa's made it quite clear where the night is going. But I shouldn't be surprised by that, since you're an adventurer at heart. New experiences and discoveries are what make your life worth living."

"That's true. And it's only fair to tell you, this is something new for me."

"Which part? More than one person? A woman? Someone you're not romantically involved with?"

"Bold of you to assume who she's romantically involved with," Georgiou interjected. 

"More than one person, and I'm not romantically involved with her," Michael said quickly, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. 

Katrina studied her for a long moment. 

"You're not romantically involved with this one."

Michael's lips curved up into a slight smile. 

"I am not romantically involved with this one," Michael repeated. "So this is -- maybe-- just as complicated for me as it is for you."

"I think it's complicated all around, just in different ways. That Philippa was my friend, with a little something else most friends don't have. This Philippa is a tyrant and a terrorist but she's on her best behavior." 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Georgiou retorted, shaking a vial of something inky black. 

"Her Michael was her daughter and her rival," Cornwell said, looking to Georgiou who didn't correct her. "You're neither of those things. That Philippa was your captain, but also something more."

"So much more," Michael said with a wistful smile. "And this Philippa--"

"Is finished making our treats!" Georgiou said gleefully. Three brackish-green mostly full shot glasses sat on the tray in front of them. 

Katrina marveled that she'd somehow ended up in a room with the most emotional Vulcan-raised human and a Terran who was determined to avoid any emotional intimacy while stoking a physical one. Perhaps she was the bridge between them-- a woman whose work was in emotions but who too often pushed her own aside for the greater good. 

"I'd ask what's in it, but I don't want to know," Cornwell said, accepting one of the shots. Michael looked skeptical but did the same. 

"To new experiences," Michael said, raising her glass. 

"To unexpected connections," Katrina added, doing the same. 

"To less talking and more fucking." Georgiou shuddered after doing her shot, then clapped the glass down on the tray. 

The liquid was bitter. There was definitely some kind of high proof alcohol as the base, but the flavors were total chaos in Katrina's mouth. It wasn't the most disgusting thing she'd ever drank, but it was in the top five. She'd rather have had a bloodwine, even if it was warm, and that's saying something. 

"That was vile!" Michael's face scrunched up and she shook her head. 

"Stop complaining," Georgiou said. "Or better yet, I'll stop you."

Katrina watched as Georgiou crawled up from her place on the floor onto Michael's lap. They kissed like people who'd wanted to kiss for a very long time but knew they shouldn't. She felt her body temperature rising as she noticed the little details, like how Michael's fingers were digging into Georgiou's thigh, and how Georgiou's hand rested on Michael's neck in a way that was both affectionate and menacing. 

Georgiou tugged at Katrina, bringing her closer to them. She shifted her weight and pulled away from Michael, whose mouth tried to chase her. 

"Now you," Georgiou instructed, as if they were dim pupils in an early morning class. 

"You good?" Cornwell asked as Michael looked her up and down. 

"I'm great," Michael replied, untangling herself from Georgiou and moving to sit in Katrina's lap. "You good?"

"I could be better," Cornwell quipped, caressing the side of Michael's face and bringing her in for a kiss that started mild and respectful but quickly became heated. 

Katrina could still taste the drink in the back of her throat, but the bitterness faded as the effects kicked in. Her whole body felt hot, but the sensation seemed to be settling between her thighs into a persistent throb. Her head felt a little floaty. She remembered the first time Philippa kissed her in their dorm room, all those years ago, and how much of the anticipation and thrill felt just like this. 

Michael kissed like a Vulcan. Precise, not at all messy, effective. Katrina knew she was clocking all of Katrina's responses and adjusting her tactics accordingly. But underneath it all she could feel the tension of the very human woman Michael was, just below the surface. She wanted so badly to see her lose control. 

"God, you're gorgeous," Katrina murmured when Michael pulled away breathless. 

“She is,” Georgiou agreed. “And so perfectly put together. When’s the last time you had such a nubile young thing in your bed?”

“Not since I was quite a bit younger myself,” Cornwell admitted, suddenly a bit self-conscious as her eyes skimmed across Michael's unlined face. 

“You’re missing out,” Georgiou said. “The young ones are such fun. You can train them, seduce them, corrupt them.”

“I’m thirty-two,” Michael deadpanned. “I’m hardly a ‘young one.’”

“It’s all relative, Michael,” Georgiou said. “Just let us have our fun. I think Katrina might relish the opportunity to get a little naughty.”

“Oh.” Michael bit her lower lip and turned to Katrina, letting her voice get low and husky. “You like the thought of corrupting the ambassador’s daughter?” 

Katrina did, more than she would have thought she would. And Michael, looking soft and glowing even in the low light, clearly did as well, which made it even more of a turn on. 

“My Katrina had her share of ambassador’s daughters. Perhaps more than her fair share,” Georgiou added. Katrina clocked the barely perceptible shift in Georgiou’s mood and wondered what ambassador’s daughter in particular crossed the line for Georgiou, or what her counterpart did with--or to-- that person. 

“I didn’t realize there were ambassadors in the Terran empire,” Michael interjected, raising one eyebrow pointedly. (Not for the first time, Katrina was shocked at how much like Sarek Michael was, how many of his mannerisms she’d picked up and how flawlessly she moved within the space between human and Vulcan.)

“We used them differently. You negotiate, we obliterated. I still needed people to command those ships, and those people had daughters. And my Katrina had her way with them." Georgiou looked them both up and down, as if she was conjuring a particularly welcome memory. "I can't wait to see this one have her way with you." 

Katrina heard the command in the casual comment. The aphrodisiac coursed through her veins, making it so easy to tug Michael up off the couch and lead her over to the bed. Michael, for her part, let herself be led, eyes heavy-lidded and full of desire. Georgiou followed them with no particular urgency, as if she was wandering to a staff meeting rather than a sexual encounter. 

Katrina grasped the zipper of Michael's uniform jacket and pulled it down, slow and steady inch by inch. She pushed it back and down off Michael's shoulders and let it fall onto the bed. 

"Get her boots off," she instructed Georgiou, who huffed like it was below her but knelt nonetheless. 

Katrina pulled Michael's undershirt out from her pants but didn't attempt to undress her any further just yet. Instead, she pulled Michael in for another kiss. She stroked Michael's skin from collarbone up to the back of her neck, letting her fingers settle there as their lips moved together. 

Michael moaned a little into Katrina's mouth and pulled away. Katrina glanced down to see that Georgiou had finished with Michael's boots and had her pants pushed down to her thighs. One of Georgiou's hands was thrust up under Michael's undershirt and the other was stroking her through the fabric of her underwear. 

"Not yet," Katrina said sternly, pleased when it provoked a tiny whimper from Michael. "Not until I say."

"Now there's a woman I recognize," Georgiou murmured, clearly pleased. "Whatever you say, Admiral."

"Now she respects the chain of command," Michael chuckled. "Lead the way, sir," she added to Katrina before running her tongue along the edge of her lower lip. The motion hit Katrina square in the gut. Her temperature ticked up by degrees. 

It was second nature to undress Michael slowly, almost reverently stripping her thin cotton undershirt over her head. A nod to Georgiou and the pants were dispensed of, flung across the room toward the couch, prompting a crash and tinkle of tiny glasses. 

When Michael was in her bra and underwear, Katrina turned her attention to Georgiou, who’d already stripped herself down to her corset top and underwear. 

“Your turn,” Katrina said. 

“This is as undressed as I’m getting for now,” Georgiou responded sharply, brooking no argument. (It was such a distinct moment from the one before when Georgiou fluttered her eyelashes and praised Katrina’s authority. She liked that, knowing Georgiou would enforce her own boundaries.)

“Fair enough,” Katrina said, turning to Michael. “Get on the bed, Commander Burnham.”

Michael moved quickly to comply. Katrina watched Michael settle in the middle of the bed as she began to undress herself, pulling her tank top off over her head. She started to fold it but then stopped and flung it as Georgiou had. Her pants pooled on the floor around her ankles. 

Uncovered, Katrina was more aware of the differences between her body and Michael’s. An almost 30 year gap stretched between them, and although Katrina had done what she could to keep her body limber and fit, time had marked her. Stretch marks threaded along the sides of her breasts and down her hips. She knew the long hours of the past year had written themselves onto her face. She thought back to being thirty and how that was about when time started to catch up with her. When an all-nighter with Philippa started leaving her exhausted for two days after, and when she started to have to struggle to keep her abs. (She'd given that up years ago. The muscles were there under a thin layer of fat she'd made peace with, although she did have envy in her eyes along with desire when she looked at Michael's muscular body.) 

"Wow," Michael said softly as Katrina approached the bed. 

"What?"  
  
"You. You're stunning."

Katrina searched Michael's expression for subtext but found none. Michael looked completely serious, staring at her with naked want written all over her face. The compliment felt strange to her, but she took it in, let it settle inside her and propel her forward toward the bed.

"What about me?" Georgiou asked with an exaggerated pout as she slipped into bed next to Michael. Katrina did the same. 

"I thought it would go without saying that you're perfect," Michael quipped with a wry smile. 

"I'm glad you know that," Georgiou shot back, bending down to kiss Michael. Katrina watched them, then slid her hand up Michael's bare side, scraping lightly with her nails. Michael's hips canted up at the touch and Katrina felt herself getting wet. 

Georgiou was a much more generous lover than Katrina would have expected. (In that way, too, she was like the other one, who delighted in few things more than coaxing a partner to a difficult to achieve orgasm.) She willingly passed Michael back and forth, far less territorial than Katrina feared, but that seemed rooted in Georgiou's clear love of voyeurism. (That part was fascinatingly different.) 

Georgiou stayed true to her word not to drive things further and faster until Katrina gave permission. That patience was surprising, but welcome, as it gave them the space they needed to wind Michael up. Katrina caressed Michael's breast under her bra and Michael moaned again, louder this time. 

"I'm starting to regret saying foreplay was my favorite part," Michael said, a little breathless after kissing Georgiou. 

"How close are we to inevitable?" Katrina whispered and Michael laughed sharply, a sound that was half-groan of need. 

"Pretty damn close," Michael admitted. She sat up and shucked her bra off unceremoniously. "Touch me?"

Katrina couldn't deny such a plaintive, desperate request. She bent her head and kissed down Michael's elegant throat to the soft skin of her chest. When Michael moaned low in her throat Katrina captured one brown nipple between her teeth, turning that moan into a throaty gasp. 

A pleased noise came from Georgiou, whose hand was lewdly down the front of her underwear, moving lazily as she watched them. The sight sent a gush of heat and wetness to the apex of Katrina's thighs. 

"Fuck," Michael muttered. A quick glance confirmed she was seeing what Katrina was and was just as affected by the raw desire in Georgiou's gaze. 

Katrina lathed her tongue against Michael's nipple. Michael's hands plunged into Katrina's hair, caressing her and holding her there as Michael's body writhed against her. 

Katrina continued to suck and tease as she snaked one of her hands down Michael's abdomen, slipping past the waistband of her underwear. Michael sucked in a sharp breath as Katrina's fingers skimmed across the soaking wet heat she found there. 

"Please," Michael whispered, shifting her hips, trying to get more contact.

"Patience," Katrina responded. She kept her strokes to the softest of pressure, teasing Michael until she was almost shaking with need. 

"Please," Michael repeated, more urgently this time, and Katrina took pity on her and slipped a finger between her folds. 

Katrina shifted her body until she was kneeling between Michael's legs, looming over Michael slightly as she marveled at the slickness she found there. Michael tugged her down into another long kiss, then pulled her into a close embrace and whispered, "please fuck me, Admiral" into her ear. 

Inevitable. Katrina got it, because in that moment nothing less than a full-scale warp core breach would stop her from doing exactly what Michael wanted. 

She pulled away for just long enough to strip Michael's underwear off. When she pushed inside, Michael keened with pleasure and relief. Katrina couldn't tear her eyes off Michael's face, but she could imagine what Georgiou's looked like based on the throaty growl she heard come from the other side of the bed. 

She braced herself with one hand next to Michael's head as the other moved rhythmically, her thumb sliding against Michael's clit as her fingers moved inside her. Michael thrust her hips up, meeting Katrina's movements, eagerly chasing her own pleasure. 

"That's it," Katrina urged, moving easily in this familiar way. It had been a long time since a woman squirmed under her, desperate for release, but her body still knew what to do. (Although this was new for her too, fucking a woman in front of Philippa Georgiou--- and this particular woman and all the complications that brought. But she'd done it plenty of times without an audience and this Georgiou's gaze on them was an oddly welcome weight.) 

"Kiss me," Michael begged and Katrina did, crashing their mouths together and swallowing Michael's whine as she approached her peak. The intimacy of the moment was intense. The only way Katrina could process it was to focus fully on Michael and her pleasure, which she did, gladly. 

The bed shifted and Katrina broke the kiss, turning to Georgiou who moved closer to them, plastering her body against their sides, slipping one arm under Michael's head while using the other to turn Michael's chin toward her. Georgiou captured Michael's mouth in a heated kiss. 

"Many hands make light work," Georgiou offered to Katrina, who was grateful to take a moment to watch Michael start to come apart. 

Georgiou's hand came up and loosely rested against Michael's throat. Katrina saw Georgiou's fingers flex, applying the barest of pressure. Michael's eyes snapped open, haunted for the briefest of moments, but when she met Georgiou's gaze, she relaxed back into the moment. (Even now, Georgiou was testing their limits, cataloguing their responses like a scientist. Katrina was surprised that she didn’t mind.)

"I'm close," Michael confirmed, as if either of them had asked, as if they both couldn't see that from the flush on her cheeks and her chest and the way her whole body was shaking. 

"Come for the Admiral," Georgiou ordered. Michael's eyes snapped back to Katrina's, wide and desperate.

"It's okay. I've got you," Katrina reassured her. 

Michael nodded and her eyes drifted closed again. Katrina could see how hard she was focusing on letting herself let go. A few moments later, Michael’s body stiffened and she cried out. She bucked and shuddered under Katrina, her moans filling the room. 

Michael Burnham was beautiful to begin with, but Katrina was struck by how enraptured by Michael's features she was as she watched Michael find her release. A knit brow between two perfectly shaped eyebrows, eyes tightly shut, mouth open and lips swollen from Georgiou's bruising kisses. 

When Katrina tore her eyes away from Michael, she was almost as enthralled by Georgiou's expression. On the surface it was nakedly hungry, but Katrina could see so much more in that familiar-yet-strange face. Desire tinged with longing, flecked with a profound sadness that tugged at Katrina's heart. (No, she reminded herself. This isn't your Philippa. Whatever she's mourning isn't what you think it is-- but she was struck by the realization that every Philippa in every universe had likely suffered great loss, and it made her miss her friend sharply.) 

Michael collapsed back onto the pillow, grinning brightly, stifling a few post-orgasmic giggles. She looked sweet and even younger than her years and Katrina loved the shiver of guilt that went through her at the sight. (There was nothing wrong about what they'd done but she liked that it felt like it might have been.) 

Katrina extended her hand to Georgiou, who sucked the fingers into her mouth, tasting Michael.

"Oh," Michael murmured, enthralled. 

"When you've recovered, I want to watch you fuck her," Georgiou said to Michael, whose eyes immediately darted to Katrina's. 

"Can I?" Michael asked, bright and hopeful. 

"Yes," Katrina replied. 

"What drawer are your dildos in?" Georgiou asked, striding toward the dresser. 

"There are no dildos," Katrina said. 

Georgiou rolled her eyes, then stalked to the replicator. 

"Are you blowing through all my replicator credits to make science experiment aphrodisiacs and dildos?" Katrina asked with a grin. 

"Of course not," Georgiou said, tapping rapidly on the display. "I've already reset your credits to unlimited. The dildos are free."

“What did I say earlier, about your brilliant mind and what you choose to use it for?” Michael asked, amusement clear on her face. (It looked gorgeous on her, Katrina thought.)

"You'll be thanking me when you've got one strapped on," Georgiou shot back. The replicator whirred and several items materialized. She brought them back to the bed and laid them out in front of Michael, who was still looking sleepy and sated but starting to rally. 

"You don't want to use it on me yourself?" Katrina asked, even though she suspected she already knew the answer. 

Georgiou looked Katrina up and down. 

"That's not what we are to each other tonight. The way it wasn't what you were to her either. It wasn’t so much about the two of you, but what you could do together. Or whom.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Katrina asked. 

“I’m her,” Georgiou said, eyes flashing. “And I have access to all her logs. Including the racy ones. She might have been a romance novelist in another life, given how lovingly she recorded your exploits. That time with Christopher on Risa?”

“Pike?” Michael asked, immediately intrigued. “You and Philippa—“

“We’re not having this conversation,” Katrina said immediately, her cheeks burning. 

"She never mentioned him."

"She mentioned me?" Katrina asked. 

Michael looked embarrassed that she'd let it slip. 

"You knew about Philippa and me." Katrina wasn’t sure why she felt so panicked at that. It wasn’t a huge secret that she and Philippa had a complicated, deep friendship, and she knew there had been gossip about their exploits for decades. (Perhaps it was that since Philippa died Katrina considered herself to be the only person left who knew what they had. Perhaps eventually it would feel good to know that Philippa treasured their beautiful chaos so much that she wanted to tell Michael about it.)

"Do you think I would have accepted an invitation to your quarters otherwise? That I’d do this with just anyone?" Michael asked. "She trusted you. So I trust you."

"That's heartwarming," Georgiou deadpanned. "I would prefer other parts of my body be warm, though," she added, threading the black dildo through the loops of a series of leather straps. 

"Do you still want to?" Michael asked Katrina in a low voice. Katrina considered it. 

"At this point, either you fuck me or I go take a really cold shower.”

“Your shower has water?” Michael asked, incredulous, and suddenly Katrina could see the two of them with water droplets clinging to them, tangled together, rocking against each other, Michael keening and begging, and that thought felt dangerous. 

“I’m a Luddite that way,” Katrina admitted. “I like the way it feels.”

“You’ll like the way this feels too,” Georgiou grumbled. “It’s patterned off Chris’s.”

Katrina blinked at Georgiou, stunned and unable to respond, until Michael took the dildo and turned it over in her hands. 

“This isn’t even human,” she said. “It’s Vulcan. Humans don’t have ridges here.”

“Oh Vulcan. My mistake,” Georgiou said with a sweet smile. “This one—“

“Will do fine,” Katrina said firmly, not wanting to know what was coming next. (She had her suspicion and THAT wasn’t a door she wanted to open. Luckily that was information her Philippa would have known not to share with Michael. It was already weird. It didn’t need to be that weird.)

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Georgiou agreed. She gestured to Michael, who stood beside the bed and let Georgiou adjust the strap-on’s many buckles. 

Katrina settled on the bed. She liked the way the black straps framed Michael’s ass. She watched them as Georgiou fussed with the fit until she was satisfied. 

Katrina was ready— she’d been wet and turned on since the couch, hell, she’d been turned on since the corridor when she watched Georgiou push Michael against the wall— but she didn’t object when Michael crawled in next to her on the bed and kissed her. Georgiou slotted in on her other side, hands roaming Katrina’s body. (Georgiou’s fingers dipped inside the cleft of Katrina’s vulva, just barely, and it was both familiar and painfully strange at the same time. Katrina squirmed for more contact but Georgiou’s hand diverted as quickly as it had appeared, stroking Katrina’s lower belly then up to tease her breasts. Katrina wondered if Georgiou too felt that same painful familiar strangeness.)

Michael seemed intent on taking it slow, as they had with her, but fucking Michael was plenty of foreplay for Katrina. She craved a deep, thorough fucking now, far more than any tender caress. She tugged Michael over between her legs and hooked one of her own behind Michael’s knee, drawing her close. 

Michael pushed inside her slowly and Katrina felt herself drop down further into her body. Things were suddenly solid in a way they hadn’t been in months. 

“Katrina?” Michael asked hesitantly. Katrina realized it was the first time Michael had ever used her first name. 

“I’m good,” Katrina reassured her. “I’ll let you know if that changes, Commander Burnham.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said with a smirk. She experimented with a gentle roll of her hips. 

The ridge on the dildo was in just the right spot to drive Katrina crazy in the best way. Michael kept withdrawing almost the whole way and then surging forward again at a pace that made Katrina’s pleasure bloom. 

Georgiou slithered up to them again, this time focusing her attentions on Katrina. Her hands tangled in Katrina’s hair and she claimed Katrina’s mouth for the empire. 

It was far from the first time Katrina had kissed Philippa Georgiou with someone’s cock inside her, and that was so much more complicated than she would have expected. Suddenly there were more ghosts around them. (Some of those ghosts were people who weren’t even dead yet, like Chris. He was somewhere on that very ship but didn’t belong in her bed anymore, at least not right then, not with who was already in it. Except Katrina saw how Michael’s face lit up at the mention of Christopher Pike, and even though it wasn’t wise she wanted that for Michael if that’s what Michael wanted for herself.)

Katrina noticed Georgiou looking at Michael with a strange expression on her face and knew she wasn’t the only one who was seeing ghosts. (She wished she had the right words for the moment, but she’d lived enough to know there weren’t any, so she just kissed Michael and hoped she understood.)

Georgiou’s hands were everywhere, stroking up Katrina’s inner thigh, gripping hard on her hip, tugging gently at one of her nipples, except no, that was too many hands. Katrina stopped trying to keep track of who was touching her where, which fingers were sliding against her clit, whose mouth was pressed against her own. (She could have kept track, they were different enough, but it would have been an effort and she liked the feeling. It danced the knife-edge of wrong in a way that tickled down her spine like low-grade electricity.)

Katrina was full of them. Michael gazed down at her and kissed her and it was devastatingly tender. 

Fucking Georgiou was hot and brutal, just like she expected it would be, but the sensuality of Michael’s presence balanced it. Katrina had the fleeting thought that if that was what fucking Michael Burnham was like, she’d like to keep doing it, but she let that thought exist and then float away as a bittersweet impossibility. 

“Permission to speak freely?” Michael asked, breaking Katrina out of her whirling thoughts.

“Granted.”

“I really like fucking you, sir,” Michael said with an impish smirk. (Her humor in that unexpected moment reminded Katrina so much of Philippa.)

“Then find your focus and get me off, Commander.” Katrina marveled at how seriously Michael took her direction, her face immediately becoming serious. She drove into Katrina like a woman on a mission and Katrina almost laughed out loud, remembering how she’d asked if Michael had ever fucked a woman before. 

Katrina felt her release threatening to spill over. It started as a quiver but grew into a throbbing pressure that made her entire body tense up. Georgiou’s hand came down hard on her thigh and Katrina was so turned on she couldn’t speak. 

Everything outside that moment disappeared. The wrong Gabriel and his betrayal. The Klingon war and all it took from her. Philippa’s ghost, both charmed and concerned by these shenanigans Katrina had gotten herself into. The pressure of the fate of the universe lined up neatly on Katrina’s shoulders— even though she suspected Michael saw that burden as hers alone. 

She was so close when Michael stopped and rearranged them so Katrina was straddling Georgiou on her hands and knees. The brief diversion caused her release to recede, but then Georgiou’s fingers found Katrina’s clit just as Michael entered Katrina from behind and it was the best she’d felt in months. 

Georgiou kissed her over and over again as Michael pounded into her. This was a brutally familiar feeling for Katrina, the same yet different in the broadest of ways. Her thoughts skipped to Risa, to Chris on his knees, to the last Vulcan she let fuck her— to Michael, laughing, eyes full of the reflection of a distant binary sun. 

Georgiou circled her clit and then pressed hard and Katrina felt her climax bearing down upon her like a runaway train. 

Inevitable. 

Katrina had always been vocal in bed, but she would have been hard pressed to remember the last time someone made her scream. If she could have had a coherent thought, she might have been embarrassed to let them see her that way, the first time they did this, but she trusted them both, albeit for very different reasons. She let herself go completely, moving, groaning, clutching at Michael who steadily fucked her through the explosions crashing through her. She closed her eyes tight and just let herself feel every pulsing sensation, let it drain the darkness she’d been carrying in her chest for so long. 

Katrina Cornwell was not the sort of woman to view sex as transformative, but if a patient in her therapy days had described the flood of emotions she experienced, she might have suggested to them that it sounded like a turning point. 

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Katrina let herself enjoy a mind that was blissfully unmoored. Her thoughts had been quieted by the orgasm and so she let herself simply feel relaxed and cared for and exhausted. 

When she opened her eyes, Michael was staring down at her. 

"That was incredible," Michael said. 

“I think that’s my line,” Katrina said, trying not to grin too widely and failing at it. 

“And it was so entertaining too,” Georgiou purred as they settled into a comfortable if sweaty pile of limbs. 

Luckily neither of Katrina’s companions felt the need for further conversation. She was happy just to enjoy the denouement. It wasn’t long before Katrina felt Michael’s breathing become rhythmic and slow. 

Katrina, wide awake— a post-coital quirk of hers at times — looked to Georgiou, who nodded toward the couch. They disentangled themselves. Georgiou went to the replicator again and brought two glasses of whiskey to where Katrina was sitting, casually tidying the discarded clothes and broken glasses from the coffee table. 

“She’s snoring,” Georgiou deadpanned as she dropped heavily onto the couch, but Katrina could hear a hint of affection in her voice. 

“We wore her out.”

“I suppose she deserves a rest. She hasn’t had one in quite a while. And I fear the worst is yet to come.”

“I thought Terrans didn’t believe in fear.”

“It’s just an expression.” Georgiou’s dark eyes flicked back and forth, studying Cornwell. “Were you in love with my counterpart?”

“No, I wouldn’t say I was.” Katrina sipped the whiskey and wondered if that was quite the truth. “I loved her though.”

“This universe is so confusing. You rush to pick apart your own emotions, it’s so masturbatory. You all spend so much time thinking about your feelings.”

“Maybe.” Katrina thought for a moment. “Were you in love with my counterpart?”

“Our culture is different. I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“How would you put it then?”

“I would say we fought side by side, then fucked in the blood of our enemies.”

“I see. Would that be true?” Katrina asked. 

Georgiou smirked, drained her own whiskey, crawled into Katrina’s lap and kissed her. 

“Get me off and maybe I’ll tell you.” Georgiou straddled her thigh and brought Katrina’s hand between her legs. 

Katrina sat back against the couch as Georgiou rode her hand. It was remarkably low effort; she was there to be still while Georgiou did the work, and she was surprisingly okay with that. It gave her the chance to observe Georgiou’s face as her pleasure grew. 

It was the same but different. She caught glimpses of her Philippa’s softness, but they were only that— glimpses. This Philippa was much quieter than her own, more focused on achieving her release. 

And yet, the same. This Philippa Georgiou was like the other one, just the same except she was wrapped in razor wire and studded with teeth. Katrina saw the humor in her, and the heart, although the latter might have been wishful thinking. 

“This universe is fun,” Georgiou murmured, thigh muscles trembling with her efforts. “It’s nice to do this with someone so soft.”

“Soft?” Katrina pressed against Georgiou’s clit, drawing a low, quiet moan from her mouth. “Tell me how I’m soft."

“For one thing, I have no fear that you’re about to kill me. It’s different, getting to feel pleasure without remaining vigilant.” Georgiou’s eyes drifted closed and her head tipped back as she rocked against Katrina’s hand. “I’m close.”

Katrina looked up at Georgiou’s face and saw both the ghost and the woman, and in that moment she supposed she loved them both— or at least they were both hers. She twined her free hand in Georgiou’s hair and pulled her in for a bruising kiss. Georgiou made an indignant whining noise but clung to Katrina anyway, hips thrusting faster as her peak barreled toward her. 

Georgiou pulled away but then pressed her forehead against Katrina's as she came. Her body quaked but she was quieter and far more restrained than Katrina expected. 

Georgiou collapsed forward into Katrina’s arms. Katrina held onto her and enjoyed the ego-stroke of how much Georgiou was still shaking from her release. 

“I have many complaints about this universe,” Georgiou muttered. “But the sex you have here isn’t one of them.”

“Most people find it easier to achieve orgasm if they're not in constant fear for their life,” Katrina offered. 

“Despite our current universe-ending problems, I do find this universe much more relaxing,” Georgiou agreed. “And — oddly— in certain ways more satisfying.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I seem to recall you being quite satisfied yourself not that long ago,” Georgiou shot back. “Michael proved more talented than I expected.”

“People too often underestimate her.”

“I don’t.” Georgiou’s eyes narrowed as she stared into Katrina’s face. “Don't fall in love with her.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Katrina drained her whiskey. “Where’d that come from?”

“Everyone falls in love with her.” Georgiou paused, seeming to consider something. “Do you want to know about who you were where I came from?”

“I do… and I don’t.”

“Explain.”

“Of course I’m curious. But ultimately, if I’d been born into different circumstances— say, the Terran Empire? I’d be a different person. Your Katrina Cornwell is as much me as you’re my Philippa Georgiou. Which is to say, not at all.”

Georgiou seemed annoyed by this, although Katrina wasn’t entirely sure why. Sometimes Georgiou confused her like that, but she tended to believe that things would reveal themselves as they needed to, and it wasn’t something she would push Georgiou to explain. 

“They all rebelled against me, you know,” Georgiou said. “Not Pike— he was practically a lap dog in my universe, so eager to please me, so happy to get on his knees. So boring. I like this one much better. It’s a trend, I think. I like this Michael better too. Don’t tell her.”

“I won’t.”

“You though— I won’t ever like you better, and that has nothing to do with you,” Georgiou said, holding Katrina’s gaze as if she was saying something very important. “Do you understand?”

“Of course. You fought side by side and fucked in the blood of your enemies.”

“We did. And then my right hand and my daughter seduced her away from me. And all three of them lived just long enough to regret it.”

“Your right hand. Lorca.“

“Yes.”

“He betrayed us both then.”

“He betrayed all of us,” Georgiou corrected. “This Michael, who he manipulated. My daughter who he saw as a daughter until that was less exciting than seeing her as a woman. Me, my Katrina, you. His trail of destruction may be broader than I’ll ever know.”

“He held a phaser to my throat and then he abandoned me to the Klingons,” Katrina said quietly. “But that was almost not as bad as the fact that he pretended to be my Gabriel and fucked me first.”

“What a bastard,” Georgiou muttered. 

“Tell me how it felt, when you ran him through with the sword,” Katrina asked, a little surprised at her own question. 

“I’ll tell you the tale of the entire fight,” Georgiou declared, eyes glittering. “I’ll even get you off while I do it if you like.”

“Then get over here.”

“Perhaps you’re more like my Katrina than I imagined.”

Katrina wasn’t sure, but she was willing to pretend. 


End file.
